His Tears
by Lt. Lysander
Summary: "There's no way it's her. There's just no way. It's impossible... Right?" Midnight Project; Oneshot.


**A/N: This was a midnight project. It was just a simple idea I. I couldn't really think of ways to expand on it, so I decided to play around and see what I could come up with.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Vocaloid. I do, however, own this fanfiction. Claim it as yours and I'll burn you alive.**

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He sits.

He stares, through unmoving eyes.

He curls himself into a ball, gently rocking himself back and forth. Nothing seems to flow in his mind.

He blinks. The flakes of cracked, white paint on the walls... They seem sharper in than he remembers.

He looks away. Within him, something seems to stir. As he browses the few thoughts he has left, he feels it. A difference.

It's not big. He still feels as empty, as hollow as he did before, and it leaves him. Then, he feels it again. And again. And again. The same sensation over and over. He can feel it growing.

He paints himself a mental picture, of a clean, white plane. Then, he notices the dots. They are far apart; further than they have ever been, but still they grow.

_No,_ he tells himself. _I've been through this before, it's no different now._ But even as he thinks this, he can't help but do as he has done so many times before. And so he turns his head. And he stares.

He gives it a sweeping glance. The green, then the orange, then the black.

He feels his eyes grow wider as he shifts his body backwards. As he looks back at the dots, he notices they've taken form.

Where there was once nothing, there sat a figure, cradling herself in the same way that he did. He glances across, and so she does the same.

He gasps and turns away.

_It can't be her... There's just no way..._ He glances over his shoulder, uncertainty on his face. She copies his every move.

He turns away again. He feels... Strange. Somewhat different. Something that he has never felt for an eternity. Something indescribable.

Slowly but surely, he feels his memories beginning to surface.

Her emerald hair, her bangs framing her face. Her eyes, so full of warmth and life. A smile so sweet, it made honey tasteless in comparison. Her hooded blouse, a bright orange tone to it. Her black shorts, reaching just below her knees, providing contrast against her fair skin, her snow-white sneakers.

The corners of his mouth begin to curl upwards. He feels something crash over him. A sense of... Happiness? Satisfaction? Relief? He doesn't try to word it; he just keeps it inside, letting his smile spread.

But something in the back of his mind clicks just then. Like a switch being toggled.

"Ah, but wasn't it you who caused this?"

He looks down, and notices something new. A reflection. He expects to see only himself, but the image before him is so alike yet so different.

His image contrasts him. His blonde hair is painted black. The clothes are the same, save for the colors which are now complete opposites. His eyes widen as he notices the main thing that sets them apart: the crimson-stained knife his reflection grasps. He feels his heart leap up into his throat, but he puts on a brave front and swallows it.

The image looks at him, a cruel smirk on his lips. "You can drop the act. You and I both know the truth, don't we?" The eyes narrow.

"No..." His hands are shaking.

"Oh, yes. You should have seen your smile. It puts even mine to shame, and I'm..." The image chuckles darkly. "Well, you know who I am."

"No." He answers firmly this time, but the image throws his head back as he laughs. It is a truly evil sound that escapes his lips.

"Don't lie to me. Hell, don't lie to yourself. We both know you for the sadist that you are." The image rises before him, and raises the blade. He clenches the handle. "You miss her so badly; I'll send you right to her!" He plunges the knife, aiming for the blonde's neck.

The boy braces himself, already resigned to his fate. He waits a few seconds, expecting to feel pain. Yet, there is none. He looks up, and sees his image, his face contorted into one of rage and pain. He notices a hand, twisting the wrist of the raven haired boy. His gaze lingers on the hand of his savior, going up the arm, leading him to her eyes. Then and only then does he realize what has happened.

"No, Shadow. You have done enough. Leave him be." She tightens her grip on his wrist, forcing him to release the knife. She lets him go, and he steps away, glaring at her.

"I hardly think that's sufficient, considering he nearly killed you last time, Gumi." Shadow makes no attempt to hide the iciness of his voice. He rubs his wrist, wincing in pain as he does.

"You know as well as I do that that was your doing and not his." Gumi narrows her eyes at Shadow. He smirks evilly once more before bending down and dusting himself off.

"Well, if you're so sure that it was me..." In one smooth movement, Shadow grabs the knife, turns Gumi to face him and stabs her in the gut. He shoves it in deeply, noting the ever-growing vermilion stain on her blouse. Satisfied, he shoves her, causing her to land directly on the blonde boy. He turns his attention to him now.

"Next time, you won't be so lucky, Len. Your little green angel won't be there to save you next time," he hisses. He clicks his fingers, opening a portal of darkness behind him. He steps in, causing it disappear.

Len leans back in shock over what has just happened. Questions run through his mind faster than he can answer them. He tries to make his best of what has happened, until he hears a soft moan.

Gumi's voice brings him back to reality. Almost immediately, his mind springs into action, and he clutches the hilt of the blade, still protruding from her. He tries to remove it, but the sound of her moans gradually growing into screams makes him think twice. He tries it again, a little gentler this time. Much to his surprise however, she places a hand on his. He jumps a little, noting how smooth her palm feels.

"Don't bother, Len. It's not going to do any good," she tells him.

He looks at her skeptically, a slight sense of urgency within him. "If I don't pull it out, you'll die."

His words draw laughter from her, causing him to feel even more confused. "I thought I told you before, Len?"

He gives her a puzzled glance, his eyebrow raised. "Told me what before?"

She stops laughing then, and looks at him. There is a serious glint in her eyes. "The day I die is the day you stop crying."

Len looks at her, feeling completely bewildered. "But I don't cry. I haven't cried in years."

She shakes her head sadly, as if she is telling him the exact opposite. He opens his mouth to speak, but she puts a finger to his lips, effectively shushing him. She stands up then and walks off into the distance. He gets to his feet and tries to follow her. He calls out to her, but she never looks back.

He trips, falling face-first onto the cold, hard floor. He looks up but all he can see is darkness.

He looks to his right, and he sees the digital display of the bedside clock. It reads 2:34 in big, neon, yellow letters.

He stares at the ceiling, the words still clear in his mind.

"The day I die is the day you stop crying."

_I don't want her to die,_ he thinks. He nods once, agreeing with himself.

He sits.

He stares, through unmoving eyes.

And he cries.

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**A/N: Think I could have done better? Leave me a review in the bottom. And by the way, don't bother flaming me, I rarely respond to hate-mail.**


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